


Recluse Revoked

by MisterRJ



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (w/ tubbo of course), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Sbi is a family, Touch-Starved, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wing AU, eventually, hint hint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterRJ/pseuds/MisterRJ
Summary: Five years ago, a horrible war had broken out, and a complex illness had been released as a weapon. It had been far more powerful than predicted and that led to this moment. The illness was not even the biggest problem. It was not a fantastical zombie virus, not a contagious, intelligent load of bacteria biologically engineered to kill as many as possible. It was the hunters. The people who’d survived the test vaccine and sent to kill anyone who might be carrying the illness.Wilbur would’ve been embarrassed to say it before, but he was somewhat of a recluse. In this situation, it’d saved him though.----A classic apocalypse universe, when Wilbur is being lonely, having trust issues, etc. until a bunch of idiots who are weirdly good fighters drag him out of his bubble of seclusion.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 53
Kudos: 532





	1. Start of an Unwanted Story

**Author's Note:**

> Aren't I allowed to ignore the SMP plot and instead write zombie aus to spite my dad who says there's no such thing as a good zombie apocalypse story

Wilbur sat, whittling his small blade. The sound of harsh wind whipped through the deteriorating building and he smelled a storm brewing. It would be safer to stay than to find somewhere better, Will thought. No where safer left to go right now.

His thoughts were far off. It took another hour, but the rain had started. He lay down in his blanket, feeling unusually peaceful.

Five years ago, a horrible war had broken out, and a complex illness had been released as a weapon. It had been far more powerful than predicted and that led to this moment. The illness was not even the biggest problem. It was not a fantastical zombie virus, not a contagious, intelligent load of bacteria biologically engineered to kill as many as possible. It was the hunters. The people who’d survived the test vaccine and sent to kill anyone who might be carrying the illness.

Wilbur would’ve been embarrassed to say it before, but he was somewhat of a recluse. In this situation, it’d saved him though. 

He was a loner before and a loner now. He carried food, weapons, his guitar, and a blanket. He’d never tried sticking with any group, no matter how appealing. He simply didn’t consider himself ready for death. His guitar kept him sane, for the most part. He sang about before, and about after. About being lonely, and about being with other people. Most would find it solemn, that his songs about being with others were his saddest. He didn’t mind though, it was the trait that had saved him. He’d never let go of that excuse.

He focused back in on the sounds. Someone was coming, he heard loud footsteps. He moved swiftly on his feet, around a corner, opposite to the source of the noise. He waited a moment or two before peaking around the wall.

A kid ran into the room. He was tall, but his face looked young, and his energy was one of someone who hadn’t been to college. Wilbur frowned at his minuscule arsenal. He had a fucking sword on him for christ’s sake! He did appear to have a gun tucked into his bad, so Will decided he would tread carefully.

He looked back like someone was chasing him, but relaxed when he didn’t hear anyone. He practically collapsed to the floor and sighed in exhaustion. A minute of silence passed.

Will cocked his gun and swiftly moved around the corner. The kid instinctually threw his hands into the air, dropping a bag. His eyes grew when he actually saw Will.

“Why are you here?” Will demanded in a harsh tone.

“I was just running, there was a hunter after me! I almost fucking died man.” He adjusted his blonde hair as he spoke, like it was his most important concern at that moment.

“Get out,” Wilbur said. The boy raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, but was swiftly interrupted. “I said get out. I don’t want to get involved with your shit.”

The kid stuttered a second before speaking. “But it’s-it’s raining and I could die out there." Wilbur was interrupted this time, from saying ‘not my problem’. “Are you here alone, dude, seriously? Kinda lame if you ask me.”

Will let out an uncontrollable laugh and covered his mouth. The child laughed at his reaction like he was five. “It’s strategic, actually. Not something you would understand, I’m sure.”

“Whatever you say, big man. I’m Tommy by the way.” Wilbur rolled his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter what your name is. You’re leaving.”

“Still?”

“Yeah,” Will tilted his gun towards the door slightly. “Leave your bag.”

Tommy, as he called himself, turned and walked out the door. Will almost felt bad, but didn’t worry himself too much. That kid was trouble and he could’ve just saved his own life. The was no telling what some fucking high schooler might’ve brought his way.

He lowered his gun, sighing. The storm just outside had lessened to a small drizzle. 

——

Tommy was a bit pissed. That dumb boomer had just kicked him out without even telling him his name. He tried to shrug it off, but the man was so sad and mean, like the ½ of grandparents that are evil. He hadn’t meant anyone traveling alone in, like, forever. Most people had grouped off into groups, or at least duos.

He had his own small group and was scouting for them. The hunter had ambushed him and chased him through the ghost town. That was when he meant the old sad guy.

Tommy was now running back to his camp at 100 mph. After the hunter had discovered him, he realized his friends could be in danger. Thankfully, arriving back at camp relieved his anxiety. It looked relatively the same, as far as he could remember. It had been set up statically next to a forest, for food. It would likely be a while before they ran out of food from the city, but it wouldn’t hurt.

There were three tents. One was for him and his best friend, Tubbo. One was for their leader, and the replacement father figure, Philza. The last was for a blood-thirsty warrior and farmer, Technoblade.

Tubbo spotted him and ran over to Tommy in an instant.

“Hey Tommy, did you find anything?”

“Well, nothing useful. I did find an old grumpy man though,” the two started making their way back to their tent.

“What?” Tubbo leaned in closer, curious.

“Yes, what indeed,” a voice said from behind them.

“Hi, Philza,” Tommy said to the eavesdropper. “There was, like, this old man in one of those abandoned homes in the city nearby and he pulled a gun on me and shit.”

Philza furrowed his eyebrows, “Geez, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, do I look shot to you, big man? Anyway, I’m kinda pissed at the guy, cause him made me leave my fucking stuff.”

“Someone took your stuff, Tommy?” The third figure, Technoblade, made his way out of a tent. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t have anything valuable in there.”

“Tommy, you had your discs in there,” Tubbo said loudly.

“OH FUCK.”


	2. Here come the fighters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit happens? I'm bad at summaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted this on my other fic. Whoops. I'm going to pretend that didn't happen

Wilbur was working off several five minute naps. Not a good choice, but also the only one he had. One of the few pros to working with others, sleep. That is if you were unafraid of betrayal.

He laid on the floor like an injured person, slouched up against a column in the building. He twiddled his thumbs and desperately tried to keep his eyes open. Perhaps he could take a moment to look through the kid’s bag.

It was sparse, to say the least. He appreciated the gun, this one had actual ammo. All his old guns had run out and he’d ditched them a while back. There were two granola bars. Will shook his head. At least the cardboard shit can provide nutrients, he thought. At last, there were two discs in the bag. Will raised an eyebrow. He assumed the kid didn’t have a record player laying around. Perhaps they had sentimental value. It didn’t matter in the end, the other stuff was useful enough.

The night drifted past, slow as honey. Over the horizon, the sun began to shine, bright and obnoxious. He did admire the moment, though. Complete silence surrounded him, besides the chirp of birds in nearby trees.

He glanced at a map he’d happened across, and inspected it. There wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go in specific, so he was just wandering. He didn’t want to stay there any longer, though. The hunter who was after that kid might come back, and that’d be a pain in the ass. 

There was a long river, and he considered following that, but he’d probably bump into people along the way, so he decided against it. He would completely avoid the city. He’d been near, and seen destruction. He assumed large groups had formed and had subsequently been slaughtered by an army of hunters who’d found out.

He had no desire to go back into the forest. As much as he liked being independent, he didn’t have much in terms of practical survival skills. There were no conventional places to take a rest, or settle down for a day, and no left behind food.

The fields were out of the question for obvious reasons. That only left nearby small towns that were past the map.

He thanked whoever was up above for the kid’s stuff, and started gathering his own. He contemplated the discs. Should he bring them, or not? His instinct told him yes, and he didn’t ignore his gut feelings, so he grabbed the whole bag. He threw the few things he owned in and slung it over his back. His guitar case was heavy, but he lugged it anyway.

The air was stiff, and a smoothie breeze made its way to him. It was the only relief he got from the heat of the rising sun. 

The houses around him looked fake and lifeless, like a museum exhibit. The lights were off, no cars drove past him. 

He stuck to the side, walking behind the houses to avoid the street. That was where larger groups would go, for some reason. Like in that moment.

You could always tell when there was a group around. Constantly being alone will make you very aware of everything around you. You can hear their voices, their footsteps, they’re always so loud.

This group was clearly hunters, they were stacked in terms of guns and supplies. They marched, like a proper army. Their rhythmic stomping was almost hypnotizing.

Will stopped for a moment, watching them pass. There had to be at least ten, perhaps headed after the kid’s group, who knows how many people were with the child.

He made the rash decision to trail behind them. One of his flaws was his curiosity about the hunters. 

Checking his map, he saw they were headed towards the forest. They weren’t just traveling to another location, they were after somebody, as he suspected. 

Not moments more passed before a hunter fell to the ground with a flop. An arrow stuck out of his neck. The rest of the hunters, flustered with confusion, and possibly fear, stopped and began looking for the shooter.

Once again, arrows flew, this time, two of them. Will had completely paused, frozen in bewilderment. They were both good shots, one in a hunter’s leg, and the other directly in another hunter’s eye. That was two dead, and one immobile. Two shots rang out, from the same direction, but only one hit. An amateur, he guessed, probably the kid.

One of the hunters who’d strayed from the group let out a shout, and the rest aimed the guns in his direction. The man fell to the floor, and behind him stood a man with a bloody sword. He had faded pink hair, and stood like he was unafraid of death, despite still facing six hunters without injuries.

Suddenly, another was shot directly in the back. While they were distracted by their comrade dropping, the pink-haired one raced forward and stabbed another. One of the men took a shot at the man and got a hit in, but only before more chaos.

Another gun shot rang out. Three more were down, and the floor was more or less even. Another, older fighter came out, also wielding a sword. The kid took another successful shot, and started entering the battlefield himself. One of the men dropped his weapons, but the other began shooting blindly. Getting a shoulder shot in on the older one, and scraping the youngest.

He died a second later, with a weak shout. The pink-hair one stabbed the last survivor, who’d been shot in the leg, finishing him off.

“Shit,” the younger one, Tommy, said, holding onto the arm that had been shot.

“I reckon we should get back to camp,” the older man with the bucket hat on said, while nodding.

“I’m sure they brought medical supplies with them, we could just get fixed up here,” said the pink-haired one.

They began searching the men. He learned their names, and listened to their banter. The man named Techno seemed almost unaffected by his wound, besides the limping. Will hadn’t seen where the bullet stuck until the battle ended, and cringed just thinking about it. Technoblade was certainly a warrior, and knew it.

The older one, Philza, seemed to be the calm and rational one. He was also the one who knew how to treat the wounds.

As for the kid, he already knew his name was Tommy. He was a boisterous child, acting no different than when Will met him. He acted younger then he looked, Will noted.

The time rolled by, and Will was drawn in. Remember, he hadn’t seen pleasant human interaction in months. It was weirdly reassuring. The thing that was not reassuring, was the feeling of a gun, pressing into the back of his head. A hunter had played caboose, he guessed.

The man leaned in and whispered, “Move backward.” The two moved silently behind the house, and he was faced with the man.

“Tell me everything you know about them,” the hunter demanded. 

“Um, sorry,” Will said, finicky. “I don’t know much. All I saw was them taking down those hunters. They all have crossbows and swords, but the younger one has a gun. The older got shot in the shoulder, the younger got scratched, and the other in the leg.”

“Well, thanks for the information, but now,” the man sighed, like he was only simply inconvenienced. “I’ve gotta kill-,”

Two shots pierced the air, and one went directly into his lower rib. He crumpled to the floor alongside the hunter, who’d been shot square in the head. The kid was the one who had shot him, Will realized.

It was in that moment, slowly moving like the previous night, that Will’s body determined it would like to embarrass him in front of the cool, normal people, by promptly passing out from what he assumed was either rapid blood loss, or general surprise and/or fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True Author's Notes: I basically forgot about Tubbo! My apologies! Also, why do I make characters pass out all the time?
> 
> Personal shit: Why is Fundy's arc on the SMP making me so emotional?? I don't have daddy issues, i think? Also, check out my discord! I'm lonely!   
> https://discord.gg/pxvhfnFdFR


	3. Dreadful Interaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno has hidden lore that only Will knows about

Techno hulled the man they’d brought back over his shoulder to the camp with the rest of his people and thanked the great blood god for being so strong. along the way, Philza had grabbed a walking stick for Techno, he'd been shot, after all. Meanwhile, Tommy gathered the last of the hunters' stuff. They easily collected the last of all the useful supplies. As for the unconscious man's belongings, Philza took the man's guitar case, and Tommy was sorting through his own previously-stolen bag.

They all trudged back to their camp, and settled around their unlit fire, their unofficial meeting place. After Techno had laid the man out on a soft beach blanket they'd found, Philza started inspecting the wound. When he turned away he noticed Tubbo celebrating the return of Tommy’s discs with the man himself and faintly smiled. They two were always so excited for the small things, especially those discs. Techno couldn’t understand it personally, but it made them happy, so whatever.

Technoblade made off to his own tent, gripping his sword in his right hand. He took to cleaning the blood off it, while taking a moment to think about the mysterious man. He was almost as old as Techno, or at least looked like it. He was tall too, but looked like he was on the skinnier side. When Tommy said he was alone, he was right. The man had bags under his eyes, dark ones, that Technoblade had immediately clocked as a sign of traveling alone.

He rubbed the last spot off his sword. Since it was fresh, it was easier to clean. He would have to remind Tommy to clean his, the kid could get a little forgetful sometimes. Techno hadn’t always been with Tommy, Tubbo, and Philza. He had to adjust to their personalities and took time to learn all their mannerisms. It was hard sometimes, especially with the younger two. He mentioned it to Philza, and he laughed it off, saying something about their ‘teenagerhood’ and moved on.

He wondered what the man thought of Tommy and Tubbo. He’d held on to the discs, which struck Techno as odd. Tommy talked about the man in a way that made Techno think he had no intention of running into Tommy again. 

The guitar case was also strange, and led to even more of Techno’s silent guesses. What was in the case? A guitar, or something else entirely? Could the guy play guitar? Why lug such a heavy thing around?

Techno made his way to the field. The day passed, and the crops distracted from the mystery. The harvest was looking to be successful this time around. Very few animals made their way through the crops, and only a measly rabbit had taken a bite of the cabbage. Techno scared it away easily and continued his brief examination. It was already halfway through the day when they got back, so by the end of the day Techno wasn’t satisfied with his work, but he didn’t want to miss dinner. The sun set on the horizon and draped the sky in different colors, mainly pink and orange. Watching the sky, he wandered his way back to the fire and, consequently, ‘Will’ as he called himself.

Everyone had gathered around the fire at that point. As Techno approached, Tommy waved vigorously and tried to speak with food in his mouth. Phil to the left of the new guy, with a space between him and the younger two.

“He’s awake!” Tommy turned back to Will. “That’s Techno, he’s pretty cool.” When Techno had first joined them, at the very beginning, he remembered Phil was still trying to teach Tommy to stop and swallow his food before talking. He’d given up eventually, the kid was quite the unstoppable chatterbox.

“I remember you. You’re a good fighter, Technoblade,” Will said, with extra emphasis on Techno’s full name. There was a short pause, and Phil glanced at Techno.

“Why don’t you sit down, Techno. Dinner’s potatoes, your favorite,” Phil said, giving him a little smile. Sit, he did. Unfortunately, the only open log was next to Will’s.

The dinner was sparse in the ‘small talk’ area. Phil, Tubbo, and Tommy made up the majority of the conversation, while the other two stayed silent. Techno winced slightly when he realized Will was staring at him, and saw his eyes twitch away, noticing he’d been spotted.

When dinner had finally ended, the moon was completely risen in the sky.They all slowly stood up, besides Will. Techno stared at him wondering exactly how threatening he looked. 

“Techno, Will’s gotta stay in your tent. Tommy and Tubbo are already sharing, and mine’s too small to have another person,” Phil said, clearly aware of the awkward tension between the two. 

Will butted in with his own solution, “I don’t want to encroach on Techno’s space. I can sleep outside. It isn’t anything I haven’t done before.” Techno felt slightly bad, but still nodded in agreement. Phil gave him a sharp look.

“Just for tonight, Techno, how about that?”

So, that was that. He didn’t really want to piss Phil off, and neither did Will, apparently. Not a word was shared between the two as they got settled in for the night. Only distant sounds of forest noises, and, at one point, Tommy and Tubbo screaming about a bug. Will had got back his bag, with just his stuff, and now, he grabbed a dark jacket from it. Techno took up residence in his own sleeping bag, swallowing his pride and fear to speak.

“You aren’t… going to say anything. Are you?” A moment or two of stiff air passed before Will answered.

“No. In fact, I’m probably going to leave tomorrow night. So, you won’t say anything about that, and I won’t say a thing about you,” another moment passed. Before Techno could start thinking the conversation was over, Will surprised him with a question. “It won’t hurt the kid’s feelings too much, right? When I leave, I mean.”

“I don’t really know. Maybe it’d be good for him. Teach him not everyone sticks around.”

“Not everyone can stick around,” Will said. This time his emphasis was on the word, ‘can’.

After a moment more of silence, Techno groaned and rolled over, deeming their exchange of words to be done. This man required a lot of thinking to understand, maybe even more than Tubbo or Tommy. The idea of being unable to do something simply because you’re scared of it was a foreign concept to most. Time passed, and eventually, Techno fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Techno is hard to write compared to Wilbur  
> Also, sorry for taking like a year to release this!


	4. Guitar before the sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a nice conversation by the fire

Hours had passed, and the roof of the tent had practically been burned into Wilbur’s eyes. The man next to him was a quiet sleeper, he’d noticed. As the night passed him by, he combed his hands through his hair, out of a combination of pure boredom and stress. When he scratched his scalp, his fingernails were lined with dirt. Oh, how he missed showers. None of them seemed to be working anymore.

When he felt as though he’d given himself a bald spot, he searched his mind for something else to fill his time. It was at that moment when he longed for his guitar, to play the strings and maybe sing a few verses, if he was feeling brave. The instrument had been left near the fire, as Wilbur hadn’t had the chance to move it since he got back.

He’d been weak since he got there, another side effect of being shot. If it were up to him, he would be leaving that night, but no way in hell was he leaving his guitar behind.

Wilbur lifted up his shirt to check it. The man named Philza had been kind enough to wrap the wound with some sort of gauze. It hadn’t bleed through yet, surprisingly, telling him the man was experienced. Perhaps a medical background. Not many jobs required limited first aid usage, so it struck him as slightly strange.

He was pleased to see that his guitar was pretty much untouched. After opening the case and pulling the real thing out, he slid his hand over it, examining it for scraps or other damages it might’ve gotten while they were walking to the camp. After he was satisfied with his examination, he tuned it carefully, listening to the sound. Only the crickets chirped then, no birds sang at night.

He hummed a tune to himself, before strumming some experimental chords, just for fun. He sighed, and gently closed his eyes. The music surrounded him, like a flood, but pleasant and forgiving. He didn’t bother singing then, he didn’t have much to get off his chest. The people that surrounded him were at most temporary acquaintances, not impactful enough to write about. At some point, Wilbur had journeyed inside his own head, only focusing on his sound.

He only awoke from his metaphorical unconsciousness, when leaves crunched near him. Wilbur’s eyes shot open and found the source of the noise. Philza took a seat next to him, smiling at him and listening intently to the bare song. Wilbur slowed down his strumming slightly eyeing the man and glancing back down to his guitar.

“Good morning, Philza, was it?” Wilbur decided to initiate a conversation. It was the polite thing to do, and he was still grateful the man had saved his life. 

“You can call me Phil, Philza’s a nickname the kids gave me,” the man replied, seemingly satisfied to get a few words out of Wilbur. “Where’d you learn to play?”

“Well,” Wilbur thought back. “I took a class in school for an elective, and just never let go. They only have a beginner’s class, so I taught myself from there. There were books in the library about it and a lot of helpful shit online, too.”

Wilbur picked slowly at the instrument. He wondered to himself if the notes he’d taken from the books and videos were still stashed under his old bed. It’d been years since he visited his house. Who knows what happened since then?

“How long’ve you been with them? Are they your kids?” Wilbur glanced towards the tent. The two were probably still asleep. 

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” the man said, laughing slightly. Wilbur’s chest filled with embarrassment, and he focused once again on picking at the strings. “No, I found Tommy a long while ago. He was all by himself, the kid just got separated from his parents. We haven’t really had any luck finding them yet.” Wilbur looked up with remorse. He could take a wild guess at what exactly had happened to them.

“As for Tubbo, Tommy found that kid in the middle of the fucking woods. The two have been close ever since. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tubbo just spawned into the world. He never talks about his family, to me, at least.” Wilbur watched the man's face as he spoke. He did care about the boys, he thought. It was nice.

“Are you curious about Techno? Or do you know him somehow?” The man had clearly noticed his… subtle hatred of the man. This was going to be a bit awkward.

“Oh, no,” Wilbur fumbled around his head for vague excuses. “I guess… It was just a bad first impression. No hard feelings, I hope,” Wilbur lied through his teeth. Phil chuckled again, a sign of his fondness, even with the more closed off member of their little group.

“He’s like that with most people when he first meets them. His hostile nature takes some getting used to.” No shit, thought Wilbur. The thought of that man put him on edge. “So, Will, we’re thinking of traveling through the forest for a day to avoid any hunters and get to a less populated area. Will you be joining us?” Wilbur paused his playing, for the first time that night. He didn’t think Phil would ask him. Answers whipped through his brain, but there wasn’t any reason to lie. Phil felt strangely trustworthy. If they wanted him dead, they’d had the chance to do it. That was probably why he told the truth.

“Maybe I’ll travel through the forest with you guys. I haven’t really got anywhere else to be.”  
And so it was. The sun peeked over the edge of the field that Techno had been working the day before. Wilbur smiled at the reminder of the mornings before, when the birds chirped and heat fell over his face. He began strumming once again, and Philza stayed quiet, listening like before. Far away, in a tent, Techno listened to the guitar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've discovered I like writing Philza.


	5. Through the forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaves go crunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, this feels like filler to me and is by far one of the worst chapters in the story so far, but I promise it gets better.

Morning arose, and Tommy practically jumped out of his tent. The grass was wet on his bare feet, and the sun hot on his face. He was a little surprised to see Phil and Wilbur talking out by the fire. Wilbur was holding his guitar, but not playing it at the moment.

“Hey Philza, Wilbur! Good morning,” yelled Tommy, across the camp. The two turned to look, and he noticed that Wilbur was smiling. Tommy didn’t think he’d seen him smile before.

“Hello Tommy,” said Philza, whilst patting the seat next to him. Tommy sat down and listened to Philza talk about what the two had planned for the next day.

“So, we’re planning to travel today. I’m assuming more hunters are already coming our way, or will be eventually. The easiest, safest way to go is through the forest, so we’ll spend a day or two going through there.” Tommy watched the forest behind the other two for a moment or two, before the other two joined.

Both Tubbo and Techno sat to his right. Philza Talked over his plan and they listened. After he finished his long explanation, which narrowed down to, ‘we’re traveling through the woods’, they all started gathering up their things.

“Do you reckon we’ll see some bees in the forest?”

“Yeah, I mean there’s got to be some,” Tommy responded, while slinging his previously stolen backpack on. 

“I’m going to miss this place,” Tubbo said, smiling and looking out at the field. Techno was probably disappointed, he really liked the land. It was actually pretty sad, having to leave, but Tommy would never say that.

“What do you think of that Wilbur guy, Tubbo?” Tommy started taking down his tent, and stopped for a second when Tubbo spoke.

“He was really grumpy earlier, which was awkward, I guess. I think I like him better when he’s happier, like this morning,” Tubbo responded, and Tommy nodded in agreement.

In no time flat, the five were voyaging into the woods. It was a mostly silent voyage, all of them were more focused on walking than talking. At one point, Philza stopped and led them to a waterfall he heard. The water was pretty good and it was a pleasant break. The waterfall itself was beautiful, but Tommy didn’t care that much. 

Soon, they were back on the metaphorical road, crunching along. They even came along a beehive, which Tubbo investigated for possible friends. After Tubbo baby talked the bees a while, Philza reminded them to get moving again. 

The time speed by, night falling on the group. Then the second day came. None of them had bothered to unpack their tents or supplies. So, of course, Tommy felt sore as hell. Walking was going to be a bitch, he thought.

Once again, they were walking. Tommy glanced at Wilbur with sympathy. The man was carrying his large guitar and a bag, and a visible layer of sweat lined his forehead. Tommy couldn’t imagine having to deal with all that stuff constantly.

It was about noon when the crew reached the edge of the forest. The sun shined high above them and cast their shadows behind them. Tommy held his hand to his forehead, trying to block out the persistent sun. 

Tubbo was the first to speak when they reached the edge of the forest. “Welp, we’re finally out.” He was grinning, like everyone else. Tommy knew Tubbo liked more open spaces, and he could understand the feeling. They all made a gesture or noise, indicating they agreed.

Around them, houses stood tall. Tommy guessed they were in a more pricey neighborhood, because of the fancy flowers and porches that he could see from the outside. Of course, at this point, most of the flowers were overshadowed by untrimmed bushes or dead and grey, and the porches were covered in a layer of dust and dirt. 

“Well, they don’t look looted, yet,” Wilbur said, frowning. Tommy took a gander at what the man was thinking. Maybe suspicious, or confused. Tommy glanced back at the houses, revealing he was right. Most of the houses were locked before, so people had to smash windows to get in.

Philza agreed, “it’s strange, but yeah, they look relatively untouched. We can find a larger one and maybe even settle down for a little while.”

“Oh, yeah! That’d be great,” Tommy remarked, feeling tired. 

It took a bit of searching to find a house they all agreed would work. They eventually found one with five bedrooms and plenty of food and other supplies. Despite the five bedrooms both Tommy and Tubbo knew they wanted to share a room without even asking each other. 

The two decided on their room, the one with a bunk bed and began unpacking their stuff. It was a relatively peaceful process and they didn’t have much to unpack so they got settled quickly.

“Do you think one of these houses has a record player?” Tommy pulled out his two discs very carefully.

“Yeah there’s got to be. I mean, there are a bunch of houses, it would be weirder if there wasn’t one,” Tubbo reassured him. The discs were from his parents a while ago. They used to have a little record player at their house that they played at least once a week, and Tommy could remember turning it on when he had to wash their dinner dishes. It was a fond memory for him. Most kids hated all their chores, but the record player made it so much better, so much so that he looked forward to it. 

That night, he hummed the tune of one of the songs on the discs. He thought Tubbo would like it. Maybe, once they got that record player they talked about, Tubbo would let him play it as the two went to sleep. Tommy liked that idea a whole lot.


	6. Fly away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur pulls out his self destructive tendencies and straight-up tries leaving, but thankfully literally no one here has a normal sleep schedule, so he is stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never write a fic involving Philza where he doesn’t have wings. I hate the government and will always make them the villain.

Night set on the quiet house. It was unsettling to be in a normal room again. It wasn’t even really Wilbur’s room. He didn’t even bother unpacking his things. He did set his guitar down and take a small nap though. 

The moon was rising and Wilbur refused to sleep. He sat on the foot of his bed, unsure of what to do. It didn’t feel right, being with these people, but they were so nice. He shifted his feet, thinking about taking off his shoes, but the idea of walking right out the door flowed steadily through his mind.

He stood up, looking out the window for a while. Cookie-cutter houses lined the earth outside, and he could even see the end. The lifeless little world stood still in front of him. It was as if nothing had changed since the day he’d meet all of them. But maybe if he thought too much, it would feel like before. 

The lights were off because it was night. Why would there be cars out at night anyway? The houses looked livable. Most of the ones below probably housed families. They were big enough to.

With his things over his shoulder and in his hands, he left his room. There was a long, empty hallway, only filled with doors to the bedrooms. He made his way down the stairs and through the kitchen. He marveled a bit at the size of the house. It even had an atrium and a fancy dining room, with expensive looking plates and bowls in a display case. 

There he stood, at the door. It was a bit daunting, the idea of being by himself again. But, if it came to it, and he had to leave them at a later time, he’d be more attached, and it would be even harder to go. He curled his hand around the door knob, breathing in slowly.

Before he could even turn the knob, he heard a footstep behind him.

The man, Phil, stood there raising his eyebrows. That was not the most captivating thing about the man at the moment. No, it was the large feathered wings that were behind him.

“Holy shit,” Wilbur whispered, releasing his grip on the door knob. 

“Where, exactly, are you going?” He asked, like he’d found a kid stealing cookies or something.

“You have wings,” Wilbur said, still whispering. The wings readjusted a bit, as if they recognized they were being acknowledged.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot you haven’t seen them yet,” Phil said, like he was amused. Wilbur caught himself staring again, but what else could he do?

“How about this, I can start a fire, make us some tea, and we can ask each other some questions.”

And so they did. Wilbur watched Phil the whole time, or rather, his wings. They didn’t move much on their own and Wilbur guessed he hid them easily under that coat of his. 

He took a seat next to Wilbur and handed him a cup. Wilbur took a sip, but stayed quiet.

“I can explain first, if you’d like.” He paused a moment, then started speaking again. “I wasn’t born with them. When I was younger, I volunteered for the army. Believe it or not, even before the genetically engineered virus that wiped out half the world, the government was doing shady stuff. 

A year or two in, a man came to me, told me I could ‘do more for my country’ or something. I was mostly there because I didn’t want to go to college honestly. But then he offered money. I wasn’t just about to let that go, and I was young and stupid. I was younger then you are, actually.” He looked into Wilbur’s eyes, but continued.

“They tested me, to see if I was,” he paused. “To see if I was ready for the wings, I suppose. I didn’t think much of it at the time. They didn’t really tell me anything the whole time. One day, just like any other, they took me away from the others again. I thought, great, more tests. I distinctly remember thinking that exact thing, that day.” Phil’s wings drew into his body slightly, and the man took a breath.

“Instead of the little gym area with all the stop watches, we went to a medical room. I assumed it was like a normal doctor’s visit or something. They sedated me, and when I woke up, I had these.” He covered his face with his hands, and stopped. Wilbur felt the need to comfort the man, but he held back.

“You don’t have to talk anymore,” Wilbur said. He rested a hand on Phil's shoulder and the two sat there in silence for a minute.

“I-“ Wilbur paused. His hand slipped from Phil’s shoulder and he rubbed his hands together. “It’s been a while, since I’ve been with other people. It’s been… a little jarring for me,” he said, unsure of his wording. “I wasn’t planning on staying. Thank you of course, you guys are really nice, but I really think it’d be better if I left.” Another moment of silence passed.

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why not stay?”

Wilbur thought hard. “Someone’s going to find us and split us up eventually. I don’t want to stay for that.”

Phil watched Wilbur talk. He never met Phil’s eyes when he talked, but Phil understood why. His eyes were fixed on the ground instead.

“Techno was like you when we first met him. He never said it out loud, but he thought the same, but here he is,” Phil said. Wilbur was still kneading his hands and stayed quiet.

“I’m not going to force you to stay, but consider it, at least.” And consider he did. The two once again sat in silence for a solid half hour.

“Why were you up this late?” Wilbur mumbled, curiosity brimming.

Phil thought for a moment. “I have nightmares, not a lot. Mostly about my wings, some are about losing one of them,” Phil looked up to the ceiling, and Wilbur knew what he was talking about. “I can’t remember a lot of them. Sometimes I just wake up, and my heart is beating 100 miles per hour and I’m scared.” Phil took a sip of his tea. It wasn’t really hot anymore.

Wilbur did too, and looked at the wings again. They were white, and the feathers were rather large, bigger than any you could find on a bird. He wondered if Phil could fly, but he didn’t ask.

The silence was peaceful. It was dark outside, still. The clock in the corner read 1:12.

“I want to stay.” Wilbur thought for a moment. “I do.” He felt Phil rub his back a little, and his hand was warm. He smiled a little, and Phil got off the couch, his hand slipping off Wilbur’s back.

Wilbur followed him, and the two made their way to put their cups down. Wilbur watched Phil make his way to his own bedroom, which was downstairs. 

His own room now felt more like him, he thought. His bag still sat on the floor and his guitar case sat next to it, against the wall. He settled in his bed, but didn’t fall asleep that night. There might be a time when I can, the man thought. It was a new idea to him, one which seemed more plausible than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like including clocks in my stories. My apologies.
> 
> This is just a cursed youtube hype house where they all have government-assigned trauma
> 
> Where is the Phil angst in this fandom? Here’s some (: 
> 
> I think in small increments that all have their own paragraph. 
> 
> Turns out I like to write Philza and Wilbur bonding. So sue me
> 
> I will never write a fic involving Philza where he doesn’t have wings. I hate the government and will always make them the villain.
> 
> (:> he has a hat


	7. Taking the horizon into account

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the end of this chapter Wilbur regrets his decision to stay. 
> 
> Already? I hear you all asking. Yes, I answer, I must drive the plot, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we all ignore how long it took me to finish this, please, it's literally 1700 words? I'll try to be faster with the next one, but no promises

The sun danced its way over the horizon. Everyone had slept in that day, no matter when they fell asleep. The sun’s glare casted long, bold shadows behind everything it touched, leaving most things in the shade. The morning was quite nice, the man waking up thought

By the time Wilbur had gotten downstairs, it was already around what he guessed to be eleven. He rubbed his eyes as he walked down the stairs, trying to adjust to the light. There was canned fruit set on the table, and some cooked rice in a plastic container, like the ones kids had in their lunch boxes. It wasn’t the greatest meal, but Wilbur was definitely not arguing.

The kitchen was empty, and there was a note left in front of the food. At first he thought the handwriting was Tommy’s. The letters were jolted and notably crooked, like a little boy’s. However, the writing wasn’t exactly amicable and more to-the-point, so, probably not Tommy’s. It was signed by Technoblade. Huh.

The note was pretty short. The basic rundown was that both Philza and Techno had got out looking for supplies, or maybe even a leftover generator that had survived the looting, especially since the place seemed practically untouched. Meanwhile, the other two, Tommy and Tubbo were also searching for supplies, but sticking closer to the house. He was alone in the house.

So, yet again, his curiosity got the better of him. Thankfully, he wasn’t in mortal danger this time.

Phil’s room was right next to the kitchen, so he dropped in there first. It was neat, and the bed was made, not perfect, but an attempt. His bag sat on the floor, but looked pretty empty. Wilbur opened it up a little, and noted a few things left, which were mostly for travel. There was a map, like Wilbur’s, but it didn’t say the name of wherever they were, which was good. The rest of the room was relatively barren. He laughed when he looked in the trash can. Apparently, Phil shed his feathers? And then picked them up and threw them away? There wasn’t really much else in the room, so he ventured on.

He peaked in Tommy and Tubbo’s room next, and stepped in quickly. A lot of stuff had been moved to the side, maybe from the old residents. Tommy’s discs were laid on a nightstand, next to one of the beds. The blanket on one of the beds had been tossed almost all the way on the floor. Compared to that one, the other bed was practically perfect. It was still unfolded, but relatively neat. On top of the bed was a small, dirty bee plushie. Wilbur smiled at it, remembering Tubbo ‘making friends’ with the bees in the woods. He looked in their trash, and found amusement once again. The two had ended up with candy from somewhere and thrown away their wrappers. That probably wasn’t healthy, it being years old and all. An important lesson Wilbur had learned in his many years of living, you can find out so much information from someone’s trash can. Although, they’d only been there about a day, so the amount of stuff he’d found could already be considered lucky.

The last room was one he slightly dreaded. He did want to go inside though. Of course he wanted to know more. The man was very mysterious, after all.

The room was almost barren, like the others. A few spare things lay around, but not much. The first thing one entering this room would notice was the large axe. There was a space for another weapon, presumably a sword that Wilbur had noticed him carrying earlier. His eyes searched the room, squinting. The curtains had been closed, making the room substantially darker.

With no electricity, it would really be impossible to see anything so he pulled them open caustically. Light streamed into the room, and his eyes landed on a bag he had previously missed. It was larger than the others, which made sense. Technoblade seemed to be the strongest of their whole group, so he would likely carry the most. He took note that Techno’s trash was empty. It didn’t really mean anything, if he was honest. That hadn’t been at the house that long, so it wasn’t odd. 

He was starting to wander back to the large bag, when he heard something. He followed his instinct, to split directly out of the room as fast as possible and try to look inconspicuous. Listening closer, he realized it was wings. They were large, so Phil’s, presumably. Wilbur felt on guard immediately. He wasn’t a genius or anything, but Phil didn’t seem the type to use his wings casually.

He rushed to the door, right on time for the aforementioned man to open it. 

“Have you seen Tommy or Tubbo around here anywhere?”

“No, no. Why?”

“There are hunters coming,” Phil’s hand rested on the sheath of his sword. “I think they know we’re here.”

Wilbur looked out one of the tall windows, but couldn’t see very far. “How far away, and how do you know?” Phil glanced back at Wilbur before moving past him and out the door. Wilbur followed, his eyes flicking around, searching for any possible movement, either from hunters or the other guys. “Also, where’s Technoblade?”

“A few seconds, honestly. I saw them from on top of one of the buildings. There are a lot of them. And, as for Techno, he can take care of himself.” Phil glanced back at Wilbur.

“Wilbur! Philza!” Shouts came from behind them. Tommy and Tubbo were just down the street from them. “Glad to see you're finally awake, idiot,” Tommy said, smiling like a kid.

Tubbo read the room a little better. “What’s wrong?”

“There are hunters, they’re here.”

“Here, like, here-here?” Tommy shared Tubbo’s concern now.

“Yes, here-here. Now, you boys, do you have your weapons?” Tommy nodded, along with Tubbo. “Wilbur, can you fight?”

“Uh, no!” Wilbur had to admit, he was a little scared, almost more than the younger ones. “I guess, I can, a little. I’m average at it.” He nodded. How many hunters was ‘a lot’?

“Follow me, Techno and I aren’t going to be able to fight these guys alone. And it’ll be harder than your training.” Damn, Phil had trained these kids. That made sense, it was harder to survive these days.

And so, the march to the battle began. They were so silent it was frightening. Everyone looked more serious than before, very different then when he’d first seen them fight. 

“Do you have any weapons in particular you know how to use?” Phil looked at him again, expectantly, for like the thirtieth time.

“No, not really,” Wilbur said, with sort of a nervous laugh, adjusting his shirt.

Tommy was the first to speak after that. “I have my gun, you can have my sword.”

“What, no, I can’t take it, I wouldn’t know how to use it.” Wilbur tried to hide his nerves. It wasn’t working.

Tommy leaned over him and whispered. “I don’t either. I usually just zone out when Philza’s teaching.” He giggled and little and Wilbur grinned himself.

“Oh, I guess it’s fine then. Thank you,” Wilbur took the sword Tommy held out to him. As they walked, he switched it from hand to hand. It was heavier than he expected. The thing was made of like, real metal. He guessed that made sense. He was going into an actual battle, with people who could fight. The hunters had guns, and all he had was a sword. With the way Phil was acting, they were clearly outnumbered by ‘a lot’ and the odds were against them. 

Then, he could hear them. No more hiding behind buildings for him anymore. The marching was striking this time, like a real army. This was far different. This time, if someone came up to him and put a gun against his head, the others would be busy. In fact, he realized, this whole fight would consist of people putting a gun to his head.

This all would’ve been swiftly avoided if he’d left the other night. The price to pay for grouping up, was right here. Instead of silently making his way through an abandoned city, or playing his guitar near a calm lake, like he had long ago, he was charging headfirst into a fight that would most likely get him killed. Great. Nothing better than friends.

Once they reached the edge of the peaceful neighborhood, Wilbur watched the horizon, understanding the meaning of ‘a lot’. Phil really wasn’t lying, there were a lot. Unlike the other hunters he’d encountered, these were soldiers. Their feet didn’t miss a beat. If he imagined hard enough, he could hear the sound of a drum, like the wars of the old times. They all held the same expression. No, no, these men were far from the men the government usually sent, who had but a few weeks of training. These men held themselves, but not with the obnoxious cockiness of the young adults he’d typically see. They held themselves with the knowledge they’d earned their place on the battlefield, and had something to fight for.   
But that wasn’t all. The man leading the battle was one that put fear into the hearts of the bravest of survivors. A famed murderer, who was rightfully separated from hunters. There were doubts whether the commander was even human, and knowing Phil had wings, that could very well be true. Wilbur was shaking when he readjusted his sword in his hands. He remembered the famous battle from America, along with the beloved quote from it. He would always remember, “Don’t shoot until you can see the whites of his eyes.” That of course wasn’t relevant right now. Everyone was tense. He watched as Techno settled in besides them, without saying a word. 

He would search for the whites of the eyes of the horrifying man at the front of the charge if it weren’t for that unforgettable mask. That mask was the last thing so many people saw, not even getting the courtesy of seeing the face of the man that took their life. And here was was, gripping a sword with sweaty hands, basically waiting for death. Dear god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream cameo pog??? Anyways, now I have to write a really long fight scene in which I reveal a bunch of lore. Wish me luck
> 
> (Also, Wilbur seems really ooc at the end of the chapter, my bad.)


	8. A god who mustn't falter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MMMmmmm, Techno lore, finally?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry chirstmas, and happy holidays. This is my gift to you! I hope you all enjoy <3

Technoblade couldn’t remember much from his childhood. He couldn’t remember the names or faces of his biological parents, or the house he’d begun to grow up in. The most he knew was from outside sources, from the people who he’d had the misfortune of being raised by, which wasn’t much information at all. Instead, his earliest memory came from later in his childhood. He was pretty sure he was kidnapped or something of the sort because his first memory was escaping from a place full of terrifying adults. The whole place smelled like actual shit, and it was freezing. He was glad he couldn’t remember more from before. 

From then on, life was about as bad as one might expect. He was in the city, or at least the outskirts of it. Thinking back, he was younger than ten years old, so, probably at a loss for what to do. That day was dreary like it was going to rain. The houses that lined the street he’d come upon were varying shades of grays, browns, and other darker colors, and other than the loud car roaring past, or honking in place, the area was empty. He walked the deserted sidewalk. He remembered being hungry and thirsty. 

It was a while before he reached the city. He felt like a zombie, his feet moving slowly, and on their own. He couldn’t put his finger on why exactly he’d gone to the city, but he did. Like before, his memories of his time in the city were lacking, at least at first. He stole food or took some that tourists gave him. It made him grateful that he was younger, it made him more likable, he figured out. The older kids and adults didn’t get as much. The teenagers barely got any. Most of them had permeate scowls or crooked smiles that repealed even the kindest of givers. He learned more about that when he became one himself.

Even before that, when he was about 12, he got jumped for the first time. They weren’t total assholes, though. Techno had always looked older for his age, so he resembled like a 13 or 14-year-old, he imagined. They stole his food, but not before Techno got some solid hits and kicks in. 

And so began a life of fighting. He remembered his fights more than anything. He remembered the first time he broke someone’s bones. Granted, he pushed them down the stairs, but it was still burned into his mind. The sound was strangely loud, and so was the kids screaming. The other guy had to be at least 16, so two or three years older than him at that point. His age was hard to keep track of, and it was useless information anyway. 

He started fighting for fun, which turned into fighting for money. As it turned out, that was illegal. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he’d have to be careful about it. If he got injured, his only way of getting money was screwed, so he simply didn’t lose. 

He got his name from fighting opponents who had obvious handicaps, like knives and daggers. He couldn’t remember where ‘Techno’ came from, but he could definitely remember the sting of future scars given to him by people he knew were about to lose. There, ‘Technoblade’ was born, along with the phrase, ‘Technoblade never dies’.

The guy had fans. Not impossible, but not common. He saved children from being robbed in his free time, so what? It didn’t make him a saint, Techno would tell himself.

Along with recognition came trouble, and with trouble came government authorities. So, he ran. He ran as long as he could. He liked being in charge of his own life, and he’d heard tales from the kid there who’d escaped foster care. It was a big ‘no’ from him. 

He lasted several weeks without being caught after he heard they were after him, but he couldn’t run forever. They asked him questions he didn’t really know. His name, his age, where his parents were. It was a bad experience overall, but, as with all things in Technoblade’s life, it got worse.

Now restrained by the fact he was an official citizen of the United States, he was also officially an orphan. The man who sat in front of him, whose name he’d forgotten a long time ago, gave him two options. Go to an orphanage, wait in foster care for about two years with no long-lasting, real family, or be a ‘brave citizen and help keep the country’s freedom’. Technoblade thought of himself as a fighter, not one to sit around like a damsel in distress. Off to be a child soldier it is, he thought.

He wasn’t far off. He fought. He fought other kids, older and younger. Later, he fought adults. He wasn’t fighting for anything though. He was fighting so people could watch, and then talk about him. The people wore uniforms with metal badges and ugly hats. He learned they were waiting for something bigger that the general public wasn’t supposed to know about. He would sit in the little bunk beds listening to people of all ages, all with noticeable scars and bruises, talk and snore. It was strangely peaceful if you considered fighting calm. Technoblade did.

What wasn’t peaceful, was when they were ready, the people in the uniforms, that is. The fighting stopped for a day. People were led in and out of the room, and everyone was silent. It was like The Reaper was in the room with them, looming over them like a shadow. Some didn’t return that day, but Techno did. ‘Technoblade never dies’ was ironic to him now. He, somewhere in his mind, wished it wasn’t as true as it was.

It was a month before things got back to normal. That is to say, back to fighting. Things were far from normal. When they finally took Techno in the back, they called upon doctors. Techno was only seventeen at that point, but he’d picked up enough dystopian teen-aimed books off the street to know what government human experimentation was. It wasn’t really like in the books though, it was more like regular drugs. And by regular drugs, he meant steroids, or something close to it.

So, yes, there was more fighting. The ones who lost paid higher prices now. Some wounds would land fighters in the make-shift hospital there. Other times, the wounds were permanent. In those cases, Techno wouldn’t see that person again, and it terrified him. So, he fought, and the phrase remained, ‘Technoblade never dies’.

It did catch on again, out of fear this time, rather than admiring kids. It wasn’t intentional, but he sent more than a few people to their metaphorical graves. The word ‘metaphorical’ depended on what you believed about what happened to the disappeared people. There were more doctor visits as time went on, and Techno was thankful he wasn’t afraid of shots. 

It was hard to hold onto optimism, or impossible, in his circumstances. He was constantly exhausted and if he paid attention, maybe he’d notice the people in uniform paying attention to him. They threw him into more fights than others, testing him far past what was healthy for an eighteen-year-old. He lost his temper regularly during fights, looking for blood, no matter what. For the first time, after years of fighting, he killed someone. He dismissed it, in his heart, he knew it would happen eventually. The people around him shrunk away and whispered to each other. It wasn’t easy, but he persisted.

In the years passing, there were whispers of what they were all being prepared for, and none of the options were good. Eventually, they learned, even with their minimal contact with the outside. Disease had ravaged the world, killing off thousands, if not millions of people. There were few fighters left, and he knew them all on a first-name basis, despite not wanting to. The time passed, faster and faster, and they watched the information they got carefully. More people were killing people, and new recruits were being sent out earlier, they were called hunters by most, at least he’d heard. 

After about two years in that awful place, he was let out, to murder, specifically. He did for a while. As much as he hated to admit to it, he was scared. They still administered the drugs to him, and they felt like the solid ground in a world so unfamiliar to him. But, as the famed Technoblade does, he persisted and broke through. In this scenario, though, that meant living off the grid of the people who held all of the control in the whole continent he was on. And, as much as he dreaded it, people knew him. They knew ‘Technoblade’. 

So, after saving some random kids from hunters, he was surprised to be let into a small group of survivors with open arms. Those survivors of course being Philza, Tubbo, and Tommy. He left his past behind, and the younger too seemed to be none-the-wiser to it. Philza had his own reasons to ignore anything he knew. He’d spotted the wings on one of his first nights and asked his own question. The two weren’t so different, or at least more similar than he thought. 

Along came the reckoner, in due time, though. Wilbur, he knew, and he held it over Techno’s head. He was a shifty fellow but seemed like he would keep his mouth shut unless provoked. Techno shrugged it off. He didn’t fight nearly as much like the old days, so that wouldn’t be much trouble, he figured. 

However, as he shifted his feet into a fighting stance, he doubted he could keep any sort of unspoken, pacifist treaties. His eyes pierced the false eyes of the man leading the charge. The man, Dream, was one he recognized from his fighting days. He’d thrown fists with the man a few times, and he’d been a good opponent. Techno had sensed leadership qualities when he saw Dream talking to both people he was close with and acquaintances. It suited him, unsettlingly so.

The sound of feet barreled against the grass and dirt now. They were picking up speed. His comrades, his pseudo-family, were scared. He could feel it, as well as their siphoning of bravery. Very well, as they would need it. 

Tommy, the hot-headed soul, was the first to make a move, firing into the crowd. Few fell, but it didn’t count for anything, a dead soldier was a dead soldier, after all. So Techno charged, running into the crowd, not fearing possible death or mortal wounds. He yelled as he did, hearing the voices of his peers making their own screams heard. The men who shot knew what they were doing. He was hit almost immediately but barely stopped. Those weren’t normal steroids, to be fair. The government literally gave a man wings, and what? You think they’re going to stop at making a kid a little stronger or faster?

It stung, but only slightly more than a sting from a wasp. He impaled the first man father dramatically, watching his eyes widen a moment before his limbs dropped like a raggedy-Anne doll. The rest of the men faced wide swings of his arms or short in-and-outs. He glanced back. The others were doing strangely well. It turns out Philza’s training hadn't been for nothing. Even Wilbur had seemingly killed one or two, as the man was covered in blood, yet didn’t have any wounds of his own. 

What he was doing felt like work, a regular day at the office. Once again, he was Technoblade. Ripping through blindly, and things were getting blurry. He doubted he needed his sword at this point. 

His focus remains on the man, standing patiently. He was waiting, separately from his flock, his eyes trained on the only person who rivaled him in combat. Maybe, Technoblade would give the man what he wanted, eh? A good old-fashioned fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. It was a little rushed, and it's an hour later than usual, but I really wanted to post it because it's been quite a few days, plus it's like 2,000 words, which is cool (:
> 
> Have a good day, whether or not you celebrate christmas!
> 
> Also, give joining my discord a thought, https://discord.gg/pxvhfnFdFR
> 
> There are only two people on it and I'm too scared to talk to them. You guys give it a whirl.


	9. Too violent for my taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight rages on, before drawing to it's eventual close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do wars with guns even work? I don’t know!
> 
> Not as impressive as the last chapter, but that’s okay.

Wilbur swung his sword as hard as he could at another man, but only managed to chip his shield. Around him, there were hundreds of different noises. Men grunted, swords clinked together, and screams rang out from the crowd. The once peaceful field had since turned into a bloody battleground. 

Wilbur himself wasn’t contributing as much, backing away from the man who stood in front of him. The man was far bigger than Wilbur, but that wasn’t exactly a hard feat, as Wilbur was comparatively skinny. In other words, he was doomed. So, he did the most illogical thing possible and charged at the man. The other, a little shook, took a second to readjust his grip. When he aimed, he was slightly off-kilter, and Wilbur easily dodged on his way closer to the man. He took a swift stab at his neck. It wasn’t the smoothest, but it incapacitated the man, which is all it needed to do. Technically, the handgun the man had been holding probably wasn’t the best for short-range, but he counted it as a victory.

Wilbur turned back to the rest of the violence. Tommy was faring well, with his gun. Occasionally, when someone came too close, he would smack them in the head with the butt of the gun. Tubbo knew his way around a sword as well, cutting through the crowd. Phil and Techno, being the most experienced fighters, were also the most interesting to watch. Phil, whose wings were incredibly durable for some reason, shot out whenever he was surrounded and pushed the enemies back. He wasn’t using them for flying though or for his main form of attack. He, like the others in their group, was wielding a sword. 

Techno was a whole show to watch. The show, however, was extremely hard to watch though, because of how fast the man fought the soldiers and moved on. He was steadily making his way up to the man of the hour, Dream. The fight of the century, thought Wilbur to himself, as he moved on to the next closest opponent. 

The fighting went on for quite a while. The sun was setting again, and the army was thinning slowly. Of course, some battles went for more than one day. Most of them did. However, their two sides were not nearly as big as the aforementioned ‘most battles’. Techno had made his way up to his final fight of the night, as the other’s picked off the minor hordes that had held while the hours passed. It was harder for them to fight. None of them had food, water, or rest, and they all had varying degrees of injuries.

Wilbur had become almost mindless as he fought, he was scared he was becoming clumsy. It was hard to focus on the best way to face the next fighter. The thoughts flew through his mind, and his throat was dry. His arms wavered when he held and his feet were sore in his cheap sneakers. 

The man in front of his almost had a gun leveled, about to pull the trigger, when a sword cut through his stomach. Tubbo stood behind, pulling the sword out. For the first time in a few hours, Wilbur spoke.

“Thank you, Tubbo.”

“Yeah, no problem.” It was odd to hear a child so casual about something like this. He supposed that they took down hunter squads frequently, and that was just like this on a smaller scale. The two shared one more glance, before returning to the fight in front of them. 

Meanwhile, Techno was fighting Dream. Wilbur caught moments, glances at their fight. This was the Technoblade he’d heard about. His fiery matched nothing Willbur had seen before and was only met with a white mask and a smirk. 

He could tell the others were exhausted alongside him. Tommy had run out of ammo and was fighting with his fist. It was incredible but slow. He punched a grown man directly in the nose, then kicked his feet out from under him. The kid had an abnormal amount of power behind his attacks, but it wasn’t really out of place next to the man with wings and a superhuman.

Phil was visibly tired and sweaty, in other words, not looking great. His wings had lost some of their odd ability to abstain from taking damage. Dull red mixed with the pure white of the feather lining them and ran down the man’s coat. While Techno took out a lot of the soldiers, he was spending a lot of his time on Dream, leaving Phil to take down most of them. He still beat up enough of the soldiers to stay alive, but Wilbur decided to drop in to help.

And he did. Slowly, he noticed most of the other side had gotten tired as well. Wilbur observed the battlefield and the ground that was littered with bodies of the opposition. They were winning, he realized. They were going to survive. He laughed when he had the epiphany, but returned to fighting. It added extra energy to his swings and a smile to his face. His body was scattered with cuts and bruises, but he could feel his blood pumping through his veins.

He stabbed a man and whirled around looking for someone else to take down, but the field was empty. He looked at the ground below him, at the man he’d just killed. The grass, the earth below him stretched and waved. He was tired, he knew that. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and his legs wobbled a bit. He looked away, the floor was too confusing right now.

Phil was sprinting towards something, his wings trailing behind him slightly. Tubbo was standing still, rubbing his eyes, and Tommy was close to him, sheathing his sword, and running in the same direction as Phil. Wilbur whipped around, his eyes flickering to the top of the hill. 

Two forms laid on the ground, both still. Wilbur began to sprint himself, stumbling slightly, trying to stop from tripping his best. It felt like he was about to throw up. It was people below his feet, people that he was carelessly stepping on. Instead, he focused on his objective at hand, getting to Dream and Techno.

Tommy passed him on his way. Phil had knelt next to Techno. He looked up from the body and shouted something barely audible to Wilbur.

“He’s alive!” Wilbur stumbled more, allowing himself to stop. His face broke out into a grin and he swayed with the breeze like a leaf. He stretched his back. Phil and Tommy made their way past Wilbur, talking quickly. Wilbur noticed a large stab wound in the middle of Techno’s body, square in the stomach. Yikes.

Wilbur rushed alongside them with Tubbo, listening to them talk. “We’re going back to the house to treat his stab wound,” Phil said, seriously. “He does have high durability or speed or healing or whatever, but considering how long that fight was, I don’t know if it’ll work on this big fuckin’ wound.”

They did make their way back to the house rather fast. They started gathering supplies, besides Phil, who stayed at Techno’s side the whole time. Together, they washed the wound, disinfecting it, and bandaged it. There wasn’t much they could do from there, only wait, and make sure Techno could rest. That night, they all slept in the living room, mostly neglecting their own wounds. Maybe Phil would’ve done it, because of the responsibility he felt for them, but he was the first to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you guys want to see anything in the next one or two chapters, since they’ll be the end, and I don’t really know how exactly to finish it. I definitely can’t promise I’ll get to all of them, like for real. They’re not requests or anything, I just feel like it’s incomplete.
> 
> Also, if you have any critiques for my writing, please share. I always love improving my writing and getting advice makes me feel like I'm doing better. Just don't be like mean or anything! 
> 
> That's all! Have a good new year's even or start to the new year (:


	10. Bodies, both alive and dead, but together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn, final chapter pog. I said I might do one or two more after this, but I decided against it. I’ve already started on some other stuff that I’m more excited to write. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the journey (: 
> 
> Thank you to every single person who did anything, throw it a kudos, comment, or even just read it.
> 
> Things draw to a conclusion.

Once again, dawn returned. Outside the house, flies swarmed and corpses were scattered about the ground. However, inside the house, there was a surreal peace.

Wilbur had never experienced anything like it before. Maybe it was just how fast his adrenaline was falling, but the world seemed to go a bit slower, and his vision was blurry. 

Around him laid his friends, or maybe family. They’d certainly grown a lot closer, even before the fighting. Tommy and Tubbo were right next to each other. Surprisingly, Tubbo snored. Wilbur laughed and wondered how Tommy slept through it. As for Techno, he was still on the couch. He didn’t look like he was in much discomfort, but it was hard to tell since he was asleep. Phil was in the other corner of the room. His wings were folded around him like an extra blanket, which Wilbur found quite cute. 

Canned or preserved foods didn’t leave a lot of options, so he made a relatively small breakfast from what he could. He ate his first. He decided against trying to wake anyone up. It’d been a hard day for them all and it would do them good to rest. 

One by one, though, the crew arose. Tommy first. Wilbur sort of understood that. The kid was filled with energy no matter what it seemed. Tubbo followed shortly after, thanking Wilbur for the food before eating, unlike his friend. When Phil woke, he spent a few minutes examining Techno before coming to the kitchen. Wilbur could tell he was frustrated by the fact he couldn’t do much for Techno. 

What came next? It was like nothing had happened already. Phil didn’t want to leave Techno behind, so he asked Wilbur if he could salvage the bodies. So, there he was, among the bodies, some of which he’d killed. It was gross and scary, but he understood why he had to do it. He found a ton of useful shit. 

He suddenly heard something rustle behind him, and whipped around, holding up the hunting knife he’d just picked up.

“Hey, Wilbur,” Tommy said, leaning down to pick through one of the pockets of the men. “Just here to help.” Wilbur lowered his knife and also knelt down to see if the man below him had a gun.

“I don’t think Phil wants you out here, you know. I guess because of all the bodies.” Wilbur looked over to the kid, who just kept rummaging. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Tommy responded, frowning. He moved to the next closest body.

There was a reasonable amount of time before either of the two spoke again. The smell, if he focused on it too hard, made him gag. Some of the men were covered in blood, covered in scars or stab wounds. Others just had a bullet hole, that had entered directly through their skull. Some were still holding their guns, finger on the trigger.

His hands moved on their own while his memory flashed back to the violence. It was hard to focus on the task in front of him. Despite living in an apocalypse, his brain couldn’t forget the fact he killed someone, killed many people. It played on repeat in his brain, it was like a broken record.

His own hands, at that point, were covered in blood. He sorted his body through each corpse’s belongings, and in turn, they left some of themselves on him. A cruel and unusual punishment, for the price of killing. Each one of these men might as well have given up their lives when they became soldiers. Maybe they all saw death coming from a mile away, or maybe they just thought they’d win every fight they entered. Either thought was strange to him. Self-preservation was a natural instinct. Or, at least it was. He was alone for such a long time, with nothing to lose but his own life. Now he had some much to worry about, to care about. It didn’t feel bad, though. It was odd.

He looked back to the kid. Tommy had paused, looking up at the sky above them. Wilbur joined him. It was mostly cloudless. The spare cumulus dotted the sea of blue above them. It was in great opposition to the ground below, it looked pleasant and comforting, like the home they’d found. 

Wilbur cleared his throat. “Hey, Tommy,” he didn’t know if the kid would try to defend his place. “You can go inside if you want. I’ve got this.”

Tommy looked back, meeting his eyes. “I’ll only go inside if you do.” He paused, seeing Wilbur opening his mouth. “It’ll be at least a week before they try and send more people to beat us up and shit. We don’t need to do this today.”

So, the two walked back to the house. Inside, laughter sounded. Without question, the two joined the circle with their friends. Techno had woken up and Phil looked much more relaxed. Wilbur settled down and wrapped a blanket around himself. Things would never go back to the way they were, he knew that. But, maybe now, things would be a lot less dreadful and lonely. He felt safe, for the first time in a very long time among family, people who cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished 1/4/2021 with a total of 12,577 words, I think. I'm bad at math. 
> 
> With Love,  
> RJ


End file.
